


Darkest before the Dawn

by OmeletteAche



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmeletteAche/pseuds/OmeletteAche
Summary: John Thornton has not been sleeping well, which worries his wife, Margaret.Set after the end of the miniseries/book, when Margaret and John are happily married.Content Warning: Discussion/ Descriptions of another character's suicide.





	Darkest before the Dawn

John had gone to bed a happy man. That evening Margaret had told him that their family was about to become larger; they were expecting a child. They had fallen asleep together, cuddled up, his arm draped protectively over her.

So, it was a shock for him that he woke with a jolt only a few hours later. His heart was beating out of his chest, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and the sheets were in disarray around him. He felt disorientated, panicked, but as he looked next to him, Margaret was still peacefully asleep. Nothing was amiss. It had been one his nightmares. He forced himself to take a few long, deep breaths, while he stared at the ceiling. The feeling of dread mingled with horror started to fade, but didn’t leave.

At first, he didn’t remember the nightmare, then it came back in flashes. Him, underwater, and his father too. But his father was deeper than he was, and he seemed to be in trouble, sinking further into the depths. John had tried to swim down to save him, grabbing him by the arm, but his father’s arm had just disintegrated in his grasp. He watched helplessly as his father sank deeper and deeper, a silent scream on his lips. He tried to swim deeper, but it was no use, he couldn’t reach him in time.

That was when he had woken up. The dream was not one he had had before, but there had many like it that had terrorized him for the years after his father had died. Often the dreams involved him trying to save his father from peril, and failing. Sometimes it was fire, sometimes armed intruders, a pursuing madman, or a hangman’s noose. The nightmares also occasionally involved John himself in trouble, screaming for help but with no one to hear. He had thought the nightmares were a thing of the past; he hadn’t had one for years. And yet, here he was, to his shame, a grown man, unable to go back to sleep in his own bed. The clock in the living room struck 3. John lit a lamp, and looked over at Margaret, who was still fast asleep. He tugged on clothes, and headed down to his study. At times like these he was happy to be his own master, for there was always work that needed to be done.

Margaret had woken to John having already left for the mill. This in itself was not unusual, but then he missed dinner in the evening too, and there was no sign of him when she went to turn in for the night. She concluded he must have had a busy day, and went to sleep. Shortly after, she half awoke to feel a light kiss on her cheek, and the familiar wobble of the mattress when her husband got into bed next to her. She felt the nuzzle of his stubbled chin against her neck, and another kiss on her shoulder, and then she drifted back into her deep sleep.

Not a few hours later, Margaret woke with a jolt to what had sounded a shout. A man’s voice -- John’s voice. But when she had opened her eyes and gained her bearings, there was no shout to be heard. John lay next to her, also awake. “John, did you hear that?” 

“Hear what?”

Margaret figured she must have dreamed the shout. But it was strange that John should be awake as well. And now that she noticed it, stranger still, that if nothing was wrong, that his expression should be so tense, and that he should be covered with a sheen of sweat.

“John, are you alright?” 

“Yes, of course.” he replied. 

Margaret was still not convinced. “You’re sweating.” 

He shrugged. “We have three of us in the bed now”, he said, gesturing to her belly and smiling. “It gets warmer than usual.”

It was true, Margaret herself had noted that it she was running much hotter than before.   
“Perhaps we should ask Mary not to light the fire in our bedroom at night anymore; we are coming on for Spring.”

He agreed, and with that, and a gentle goodnight kiss, Margaret drifted back to sleep in his arms.

 

When Margaret woke the next morning, John had already left for work. Margaret was dreading another dinner alone since Hannah was away for the week, however, John walked in the door just before dinner was served.  
They had a pleasant enough dinner, though John didn’t seem like himself; he seemed little more on edge. He had never been the chatty sort, but he always seemed to love hearing about Margaret’ s day -- asking her questions, and giving him a synopsis of his own day. Tonight though, he wasn’t conversational at all. Not only that, but his face was pale, and he looked drained. Margaret couldn’t help but comment. “You seem very tired tonight, John. I think perhaps an early night would do you good. You’ve been working far too hard.”

He agreed, and they went up to bed. No sooner had he laid his head down, his breathing changed to the regular deep breaths that told her he was no longer awake. She was relieved; he must have been exhausted these last few days.  
She finished brushing and plaiting her hair, and lay down, wriggled under the covers, and nestled up to John. She had hardly managed to fall asleep before she heard a groan from John, then feel him turn over repeatedly and restlessly. She turned to him, and could see that he was still fast asleep. She tried to wake him, placing an arm on his shoulder, but it was no good. Still asleep, he pushed her off, knocking her onto her back on the bed. Margaret lay there for a second, stunned. She called his name a few more times, not daring to touch him again, and this time it seemed to work. His eyes shot open, and he took a huge gasp of air, as if he had been holding his breath. 

“John, are you well?” she asked, concerned.

His eyes flicked to her, as if he had just noticed her. “Yes, thank you love, I am quite well.” But his voice was still almost breathless, and when Margaret put her hand on his chest, his heart beat like a racing train.

“John, you don’t seem well at all. What is the matter? Do you have a fever? Did you have a nightmare?” 

“Nothing is the matter. Please stop fussing and go back to sleep.” he replied, his tone verging on irritable.

Margaret had a very steady temper, but she was not a shrinking violet.  
“Excuse me” she said, sitting up, her eyebrows raised, “I am not fussing.”

John rolled onto his side to face Margaret and rubbed his hands over his face. “You are right. I am sorry.” And then noting that Margaret was still looking at him with a look of expectant exasperation, he added. “I have been sleeping poorly. Yes, I have been having nightmares.” And then, seeing Margaret’s expression change to concern, he added, embarrassed, “That is all.”

“What have you been having nightmares of?” 

“My father. I had these dreams for years, after he died, and now they began again.”

“Oh.” It was not what Margaret had expected to hear, and she found herself speechless, but just for a moment. “We’ve never spoken of your father, and I think perhaps we should.” 

John shook his head. “There is no need. I was fourteen when he passed. What has happened… it’s over. It is in the past. ”

“John, I know that he killed himself.” 

He looked up at her in surprise.

“My father heard the rumours from Mr Bell. Please tell me what happened. It cannot be fixed, but it could help to speak of it.”

John let out a long breath. 

“Please, John.”

He turned his eyes away from her, as if to avoid her gaze, and then began.  
“He had been acting strangely for days. We knew something was the matter, but we had no idea. I found him…his body. My mother and Fanny were out of the house, thank God. I walked downstairs, and I knew before I saw him that something was wrong. I don’t know why. I walked into his study and I saw blood all over the floor, and then there he was hanging from a rope from the ceiling. I couldn’t believe it. His face…” John stopped there, his voice broke for a split second, and he paused but he regained control, and continued. “His face was swollen. His eyes were bulging; his tongue was hanging out. He would have hated to have been seen like that.” He looked over at Margaret. The look in his eyes was heartbreaking. 

Margaret kept her face as impassive as she could manage. She had asked John to tell her everything, she didn’t want to let him down now.

“I panicked. I tried to get cut him down.” He looked down at his hands instinctively.

“And that is how you got those scars?” she asked, taking his big hands in her small ones, looking down at the white scars on his forefinger and palm. She had noticed the scars before, of course, but he had never told him where they had come from.

“Yes. I cut myself trying to get him down. I thought I could still save him.” He said, with a sardonic huff of laughter. “But I was only a boy; it felt like it took forever. I shouted for help, but no one came, and I couldn’t bear to leave him. Besides, it was far too late. The blood on the floor -- he had tried to slit his wrists open first. When that took too long, he must've …" John's voice was hoarse now. “If I could’ve only gotten to him earlier...”

Margaret felt like she could hardly breath; she felt like her chest had been crushed. Imagining him as a young boy futilely trying to save his father was excruciating. Her eyes were blurry with tears, but she wouldn’t let herself sob openly. She wrapped her arms around him, or at least, as far as they could reach. “I’m so sorry, John. I’m so sorry that you went through that. You must know it isn’t your fault.” 

He nodded, still looking down to avoid her gaze.

“How long have you been having these nightmares? This time?” she asked, realizing that he must have been hiding this for longer than she had realized.

“The last few days.” He furrowed his brow. “Since I found out about the baby.”

“Do you think… could that be the reason?”

He frowned. “I suppose it has all been on my mind. I’m going to be father now. I have a responsibility to you and …the child not to go down my father’s path.” His words were muddled, as if he saw all of the dots, but wasn’t sure how to connect them. He took a deep breath, to steady his voice. “He killed himself in shame that he had lost all his money. I’ve tried so hard not to make the same mistakes as he did, but still, I failed before. I almost lost the mill.” 

Margaret shook her head vehemently. “John, the mill is a success because of you. And I know you will be a wonderful father to this little one." She gestured to her belly. “I cannot say what our future will hold, but I do know that you won’t be alone. Even if you lost the mill. Even if you lost every cent.”

“I am a lucky man.” He said, a smile at last appearing on his face. “Now come here.” And pulling her back in to spoon against her, he kissed her on the head, and reached round to rub her belly. She snuggled her back into him, and they chatted of happy things, like how they might decorate the nursery, and possible baby names. Margaret however, found herself getting sleepy again. “John, you will wake me if you have another nightmare?”

“Yes. But I think I will have sweet dreams tonight.” he murmured, before they drifted to sleep together.


End file.
